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POEMS. 


VAGRANT 
FANCIES 


BY 


FRANCES  GRANT  TEETZEL. 


"  of  THE        "SUUM  CUIQUE: 

HI7BKSIT7) 


MILWAUKEE: 

PUBLISHED  BY  THE  AUTHOR. 

1893. 


hntered  according  to  act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1893  by 

F.  G.  TEETZEL, 
in  the  offica  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


THE  EVENING    WISCONSIN   COMPANY,    MILWAUKEE. 


DEDICATION. 


TO 

MR.  AND  MRS.  CHARLES  CATLIN 
THIS     BOOK     IS 

DEDICATED 

WITH    THE    LOVE    OF    ITS   AUTHOR, 

FRANCES  GRANT  TEETZEL. 

DECEMBER,    1891. 


"THIS  book   is  for  sale  by  Book 
sellers    generally,    or    will    be 
sent   by   mail    upon   receipt   of   its 
price  by  the  publisher, 

F.  G.  TEETZEL, 
640  Island  Avenue, 

MILWAUKEE,  Wis. 
PRICE,     ------     -    $1.50 


VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


. 


IDagrant  jfancies 

As  I  went  a-wandering,  wandering,  wandering, 
Over  the  hillside  and  meadow  fair, 
Sad  tones  of  a  bell  came  through  the  still  air, 
As  I  went  a-wandering — 

As  I  went  a-wandering,  wandering,  wandering, 

I  hurried  over  the  grassy  plain 

And  the  sweet  spring  violets  bloomed  again, 
As  I  went  a-wandering — 

As  I  went  a-wandering,  wandering,  wandering, 
Over  the  highway  with  weary  feet, 
World-worn  were  the  faces  I  chanced  to  meet 
As  I  went  a-wandering — 

As  I  went  a-wandering,  wandering,  wandering, 

II  Haste,  haste,"  I  cried,  "  to  a  place  of  rest— 
For  even  the  sparrow  hath  found  a  nest" — 

As  I  went  a-wandering — 

As  I  went  a-wandering,  wandering,  wandering, 
I  said,  "  Fancy,  paint  the  heart's  desire — 
Thy  day-dream  suffice  my  soul  to  inspire" — 
As  I  went  a-wandering — 

FRIDAY,  APRIL  18,  1890,  3  p.  M. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


Urue 

To Palm  Sunday. 

Love  with  thy  whole  heart, 

Love  with  thy  might, 
The  wise,  the  glorious — 

All  that  is  bright. 
Take  in  humility 

What  God  hath  given  ; 
Joy  in  thy  laurels 

When  thou  hast  striven. 
So  shall  thy  days  go 

With  no  regret, 
And  memory  show  thee 

Naught  to  forget. 

Love  with  thy  whole  heart, 

Love  with  thy  might, 
The  wise,  the  glorious — 

All  that  is  bright. 
Take  in  humility 

If  sent  to  thee 
In  God's  own  wisdom 

What  e're  it  be. 
Fight — help  the  weak 

Victories  to  win 
O'er  wrong  and  misery, 

Sorrow  and  sin, 
On  to  the  end  of  life — 

Let  no  one  say, 
"He,  weak,  faint-hearted, 

Fell  by  the  way." 
MARCH  30, 1890. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


tnUVBRSITT 


A  sunny  slope,  a  green  hillside, 
A  grass-grown,  winding  path  I  see, 

They  lead  me  to  that  old  red  house 
My  heart's  true  home  where  e'er  I  be. 

Broad,  with  a  well-worn  step  of  stone  — 

The  wide  south  porch  with  rough  deal  floor, 

Old  as  John  Alden's  courtship,  too, 
An  ancient  grape  vine  running  o'er. 

The  odd,  square  windows,  tiny  panes; 

That  strong  front  door,  its  panels  eight, 
Its  knobs  of  brass,  well  polished,  there 

Huge  iron  locks  defying  fate. 

The  quaint  old  hall  with  chimney  wide, 
And  fireplace  with  its  generous  blaze, 

The  parlor  bed,  in  recess  dim  — 
A  dreary  tomb  shut  up  always. 

And  then  the  "  parlor  bedroom,"  too, 
'Tis  up  a  narrow,  dangerous  stair, 

So  is  the  wood-house  chamber  low, 
And,  joy  of  all,  the  garret  there. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


But  in  that  simple  rustic  home, 
^  When  father  and  the  boys  at  night 
Flocked  to  the  kitchen  warm  and  snug, 
Free  from  all  care,  their  hearts  were  light. 

Beneath  this  castle  Puritan, 

No  dungeon  deep  in  gruesome  dread  : 
All  cobble  walled  a  cellar  dark 

Filled  with  the  year's  good  cheer  instead. 

'Tis  but  a  dream,  farewell,  farewell, 
Scattered  thy  children  o'er  the  earth, 

Oh,  Homestead  dear,  New  England's  pride, 
Gone,  gone  for  aye  who  there  had  birth. 

'Tis  but  a  dream,  farewell,  farewell, 
Stranger  and  pilgrim  now  I  roam, 

Naught  can  thy  simple  joys  replace — 
Never  my  heart  may  know  a  home. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  9 

Ube  Elect 

Some  lives,  how  blest,  in  peaceful  valleys  lie, 
Sheltered  from  heaven's  harsh  winds  like  flowers  rare. 
Like  joyous  song-birds  sporting  in  the  light 
These  tranquil  lives  go  on  to  their  own  work  ; 
They  end  in  bliss  for  greater  bliss  to  come. 

Not  so  with  the  Elect.     In  number  few, 
The  Elect,  a  chosen  few  in  this  sad  world, 
Are  they  who  have  been  by  the  Omnipotent 
Thus  set  apart  as  prophets  were  of  old 
To  go  before  to  lead  in  strange  new  ways, 
As  Greatheart  led  the  Pilgrims  by  Despair. 

Ah,  the  Elect !     How  are  they  in  the  van  ? 
With  iron  resolution  tread  the  road 
As  pioneers,  through  storm,  o'er  craig  and  glen, 
Through  darksome  caves,  and  oft  along  the  flower- 
Wreathed  borders  of  the  abyss  ;  ofttimes  jeered  on 
By  impish,  mocking  laughter,  oft  with  scorn, 
Contumely — on,  on  through  hanging  mist 
Whose  dark  folds  hide  the  terrors  of  the  way, 
To  make  them  more  appalling,  while  yet  far 
Before  in  gloom  often  invisible 
The  silver  cross,  hidden  by  storm-clouds  black 
Veiling  its  radiant  light. 

Oh,  Cross,  Oh,  Truth  ! 

Elect,  rough-hew  the  road,  show  us  the  way, 
However  dark,  mysterious  to  Truth. 
The  awful  solitude,  the  loneliness 
Of  the  dread  way,  God  knows.     The  sacrifice, 
Renunciation  all  of  what  lends  joy 
To  other  lives  is  but  a  part  of  thy 
Sad  heritage, — thy  armor  for  the  fight. 

JUNE  27,  1891. 


1 0  VA  GRANT  FANCIES. 


TTbe 

His  days  were  heavy  with  grief  untold — 
The  shepherd  lad  as  he  watched  his  sheep, 

His  father,  the  covenanter  martyr  bold, 
His  mother,  heart-broken,  in'dreamless  sleep. 

Environed  with  jealous,  hard-eyed  foes, 
The  stripling  pallid  in  wordless  pain, 

Dared  nae  to  murmur  for  a'  his  woes 
A  heretic's  tears  are  tears  in  vain. 

But  the  fountain  pressed  down  will  bubble  o'er, 
And  the  sorrowing  soul  must  give  a  sign  ; 

His  burden  of  grief  grew  more  and  more 
Till  voicing  itself  in  an  air  divine — 

A  melody  sweet  as  the  evening  breeze, 
Plaintive  and  sad  as  Hope's  last  breath, 

As  he  whistled,  then  hummed  on  bended  knee, 
While  his  tears  fell  fast  for  his  mother's  death. 

A  little  time,  and  the  three  had  met, 

Three  nameless  graves  on  the  lonely  heath. 

O,  land  bereft !  How  wi'  nae  regret 

Ye  mourned  not,  nor  crowned  him  wi'  laurel  wreath, 

The  singer,  whose  song  died  not  wi'  his  breath  ; 

Down  the  years  has  it  floated  a  sweet  refrain- 
Where  Sorrow  must  speak,  it  there  has  part— 

O,  uncrowned  singer,  ye  lived  not  in  vain. 

NOVEMBER  28,  1891. 


VA  GRA  NT  FANCIES.  1 1 


Ubougbts, 

Despondency. 

Oh,  what  a  vain  and  thankless  life  is  this — 
Our  heart's  best  hopes  just  in  our  grasp  we  miss. 
How  paltry  our  ambitions,  loves,  joys,  hates, 
And  sorrow  heritage  that  on  each  year  awaits. 

The  day  is  beautiful:  the  pure  white  light 
Is  with  us,  o'er  us. — Spirits  of  the  night, 
Ye  ghosts  of  woe,  not  then  our  bitterest  tears — 
Our  griefs,  ye  dare  to  come  and  mock  thro'  all  the 
years. 

Unreal,  implacable,  the  hours  wear  on. 
Ah,  Life,  how  like  a  night  and  then  thou'rt  gone. 
The  stars  grow  dim:   I  hear  a  bird's  faint  song — 
Lift  up  thy  downcast  heart, — the  night  cannot  be  long. 

JUNE,  1881. 


1 2  VA  GRANT  FANCIES. 

ZTbe  present* 

Song  of  the  Weather- Vane. 

Oh,  what  are  the  storms  of  the  past  to  me, 

Tho'  they  whirled  me  to  and  fro, 
It  was  little  cared  I  for  their  cold  and  sleet, 

For  my  shivering  in  ice  and  snow, 
I  marked  the  changes  every  hour, 

And  I  laughed  to  hear  the  winds  blow. 

As  they  often  have  come,  so  they'll  come  again, 

As  time  ever  on  must  go, 
But  I  heed  not  with  vague  forebodings  dim 

What  floods  from  yon  moon  may  floA\ — 
And  I  smile  as  the  planets  work  a  charm, 

And  I  turn  with  all  winds  that  blow. 

I  live  in  the  present,  I  joy  in  each  breeze. 

Naught  of  old  storms  past  will  I  know, 
And  the  future  as  well,  I  give  it  no  thought 

For  either,  let  all  care  go. 
I'm  a  merry  sprite,  chop  and  change  with  each  wind 

That  from  any  quarter  dare  blow. 

1889. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  13 


A  shaded  lamp,  a  soft  gold  pen, 
Unlimited  my  stock  of  ink, 

Five  hundred  pounds  of  paper — then 
A  robe  of  down,  its  color  pink. 

Well  out  of  sight,  but  just  a  hint 
Of  all  the  monthly  books  that  come. 

Of  papers  too,  these  without  stint, 
Even  British  journals  cumbersome. 

These  all  about  my  rug  I  strew, 
I  let  them  lie  from  week  to  week. 

Its  not  so  very  neat,  I  know, 
But  "  satisfying,"  so  to  speak. 

That  lovely  litter  on  the  floor, 
Papers  and  books  in  richest  dress, 

Makes  life  worth  living,  yea,  and  more, 
As  all  (I  doubt  not)  will  confess. 

Safe  in  my  nook  the  world  may  go, 
I  feel  I've  conned  its  lessons  well, 

How  can  I  wish  its  glittering  show  ? 
Already  I  in  luxury  dwell. 


14  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 

Soul  Sicfe. 

i. 

Father,  the  night  is  come,  we  lose  the  light  of  day, 
Bat  this  we  know  how  e're  we  go 
That  Thou  canst  guide  our  way. 

n. 

Father,  we  shrink  with  dread  :  we  cannot  hear  Thy 
voice, 

Yet  for  our  grief,  Heaven  has  relief, 
Bidding  our  souls  rejoice. 

in. 

Father,  tho'  desolate,  soul-sick,  we  fain  would  rise, 
Yet  we  are  sure  Thy  love  can  cure, 
Guiding  to  Paradise. 


Decoration  Bap,  1891, 


The  cypress  and  the  laurel  twine  to-day  ; 

Reverently  we  lay  them  on  the  soldier's  grave 
Our  country  called  —  he  hastened  to  obey, 

Faithful  to  death,  Oh,  bravest  of  the  brave! 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  15 


Hfcritt ! 

Tempest  tossed  bark,  by  angry  surges  driven, 
Drifting  deserted  o'er  the  troubled  sea, 

Battered  by  wind  and  wave,  thy  spars,  planks  riven, 
Lost  in  yon  waste  of  leaden  waters  shalt  thou  be. 

Tempest  tossed  soul,  far  from  thy  peaceful  haven, 
Drifting  in  many  a  darksome  doubt  and  wThelrning 

woe, 

Through  gloomier  wastes,  haunted  by  voices  craven, 
What  anchorage,  what  port  of  refuge  shalt   thou 
know  ? 

1Fn  a  1Rose  <3art>en. 

How  sweet  my  garden  in  days  of  June, 

Now  in  the  fragrant  air, 
Wi  mony  a  dead  leaf  all  aboot, 

Is  unco  pleasure  there. 

For  soft  is  the  turf,  the  sky  is  sae  blue, 

The  sunshine  in  every  nook  ; 
The  heart  heavy  laden  must  needs  grow  light, — 

Nature's  an  open  book. 

Read  all  ye  who  may,  rejoice  and  be  glad — 

In  June  the  roses  were  thine. 
But,  behold,  now  a  thousand  summers  gone 

Waft  incense  o'er  her  shrine. 

What  was,  is  now — sunshine,  roses  and  love 

Let  thy  soul  read  howsoever, 
Be  glad,  rejoice,  'tis  for  thee — love  is  thine— 

Forever  and  forever. 


16  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 

j 

/Heart's  IRequiem. 

Rex  tremendx  majestatis, 
Qui  salvandos  salvas  gratis, 
tialca  me,  fons  pietatis. 

—REQUIEM  MASS. 

'Twas  the  Requiem,  faint,  hushed  and  dying  : 

Now  the  great  gathering  harmony  rolled, 
Now  as  night  wind  through  foliage  sighing, 

The  whisper  of  SOITOAV  untold. 
All  in  black  for  the  last  one  Avho  loved  her, 

To  her  dull  ears,  in  mystical  way, 
Flowed  the  plaint,  as  from  Heaven  above  her — 

A  soul  cry,  a  sob — uSaha  me ! " 

With  a  heart  heavy  laden  she  barkened  : 

Ah,  me!  \vhat  a  poor,  Avasted  life, 
Never  respite  from  sharp  Avoes  that  darkened 

The  daily  adversities'  strife. 
With  the  soul's  inner  conflict  Avith  sinning, 

With  common,  small  evils  beset, 
When  so  drear  from  the  very  beginning, 

What  must  be  the  end,  and  how  met  ? 

But  noAV,  Oh  !  a  dim  understanding, 

Consolation  she  ne'er  could  express — 
Blest  influence,  matchless,  commanding, 

Yea,  grandeur  profound  to  impress — 
Peace,  hope,  love,  IIOAV  strange,  HCAV  joy  bringing, 

As  a  blessed  vision  that  day. 
"  Fount  of  Pity!" — her  neAv^prayer  up-springing, 

The  cry  of  her  heart— "Salca- me!" 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  17 


^Uncertainty 

"  Ye  Never  Can  Tell  What  the  End^Wm  Be." 

The  dawn  was  o'er  cast, 

The  rain  did  outpour, 
The  storm  did  not  last ; 

And  the  tempest  was  o'er. 
I  said  it  was  well, 

So  life's  ills  may  flee, 
For  ye  never  can  tell 

What  the  end  will  be. 

Away  with  repining, 

Begone,  doubts  and  fears  ! 
Behold  the  sun  shining, 

So  smile  thro'  thy  tears. 
Dear  love,  be  it  well, 

Our  sorrows  may  flee — 
For  ye  never  can  tell 

What  the  end  will  be. 

FEBRUARY  16,  1887,  4  p.  M. 


18  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 

Ube  Scotcbman's  Gboice, 

Helen  or  Penelope  ? 

Now,  by  my  soul,  it's  hard  to  choose 
Between  twa  dames  sae  comely  here  ; 

To  take  Penelope  will  bring 

New  charms  tae  Helen— this  I  fear. 

The  twa  fair  dames,  than  mortals  fairer, 
They  cannot  be  a  choice  for  me  ; 

For  weel  ken  I  a  bonny  maid — 
She's  Helen  an'  Penelope. 

Gie  Paris,  then,  his  Helen  dear, 
Ulysses  brave  his  wife  hath  he, 

My  love,  my  own,  is  baith  in  one — 
'  With  a  little  the  less  o'  Penelope. 


If  I  sang  a  song  to  thee,  dear, 

I  know  what  my  song  would  be, 
If  'twere  simple  and  short  and  sweet,  dear, 

As  a  tale  of  love  might  be — 
Or  if  like  the  heaven-soaring  lark,  dear, 

My  heart  herself  would  outpour, 
Still  the  theme  would  be  the  same,  dear— 

I  love  thee  forevermore. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  19 


For  bilJet-doux  you  ne'er  would  meet 

Such  gems,  so  fraught  with  phrases  sweet, 

So  clear  in  style,  so  fond,  so  true, 

With  sonnets  for  her  eyes  of  blue, 

That  golden  hair,  those  twinkling  feet, 

His  dearest  girl,  his  love  he'd  greet. 

He  was  a  prompt  young  man  and  brisk, 

Each  task  accomplished  with  a  whisk 

Of  his  ambrosial  locks  so  black, 

In  business  matters  ne'er  was  slack. 

Yet  tried  in  vain  his  suit  to  win, 

Each  day  he  vowed  it  was  a  sin — 

Grew  hollow-eyed  and  oft  would  sigh, 

While  unshed  tears  lurked  in  his  eye. 

To  Schlitz  Park  and  to  Whitefish  Bay 

Would  see  his  dear  girl  steal  away. 

She'd  go  there  with  that  bank-clerk  shy, 

Our  friend  could  see  no  reason  why — 

For  many  a  jolly,  jolly  lark 

And  down-right  courting  after  dark. 

In  fact  the  papers  soon  did  say 

Her  wedding  would  come  off  one  day 

In  the  near  future,  so  it  said  ; 

He  cursed  the  lines  and  wished  him  dead. 

How  she  that  idiot  ere  could  choose 

And  him  so  capable  refuse  ! 

But  he  in  no  long  time  was  left 

To  rack  his  brains  as  one  bereft 

Of  reason  in  his  efforts  vain 

To  know  why  she  thus  gave  him  pain. 


20  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 

Upon  her  wedding  morn  so  bright — 
The  day  he  thought  to  him  the  blight 
Of  all  his  joy  or  hope  in  life, 
Upon  this  morn  there  came  by  mail 
His  letters  all,  how  did  he  quail — 
Of  those  three  hundred  there  the  sight 
Seemed  three  hundred  small  imps  of  spite. 
What  memories  !  Yet  bulk  so  small 
He  dashed  them  all  against  the  wall. 
In  gothic  hand  one  notelet  writ, 
He  groaned  and  read  as  in  a  fit,— 
"Next  time,"  it  said,  "if  you  desire 
To  waken  in  one's  soul  the  fire 
Of  love  divine,  my  thrifty  friend, 
You  need  not  save  your  time  and  send 
Three  hundred  letters,  like  these  scraps, 
That  one  might  think  cut  out  perhaps 
Of  some  newspaper  to  affright  her — 
And  next  time— don't  use  a  type-writer." 

AUGUST  7,  1887. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  21 


Scotcb  Song. 

"The  Worry  o' it." 

i. 
She  knew  he  loved  her  weel, 

For  he  told  her  sae  one  day, 
'Twas  in  the  kirkyard  corner 
An'  she  could  not  tell  him  nay. 
But,  Ah  me  !  the  worry  o'  it, 
Dear,  dear,  the  worry  o'  it — 
Wi'  Lady  Jane,  an'  Caroline,  an'  Bess  an'  Mary,  too, 

Dear,  dear,  the  worry  o'  it, 
She  kenned  na  what  to  do. 

n. 
Her  Robin's  sic  a  lad, 

Sae  comely  an'  sae  free  ; 
His  heart  is  hers  for  alway, 
He  said  it  on  his  knee." 

But,  Ah  me  !  the  worry  o'  it, 
Dear,  dear,  the  worry  o'  it, 
Wi'  Lady  Jane,  an'  Caroline,  an'  Bess,  an'  Mary,  too, 

Dear,  dear  the  worry  o'  it, 
She  kenned  na  what  to  do. 

in. 

He  whispered  in  her  ear, 
Did  Robin  unco  sweet, 
Yet  he  whispers  to  'em  a' 
Whene'er  they  chance  to  meet. 
She  sighs  for  the  worry  o'  it, 
Dear,  dear,  the  worry  V  it, 
Wi'  Lady  Jane,  an'  Caroline,  an'  Bess,  an'  Mary,  too, 

But  she'll  ne'er  break  her  heart  aboot  it, 
Whatever  else  she'll  do. 


22  VAGAANT  FANCIES. 


jfaitb. 

The  day  of  our  fete  had  come, 

But,  alas!  it  is  too  true, 
Of  mornings  more  damp,  more  heavy, 

More  cheerless  than  this  there  are  few. 

We  children  were  watching  the  weather, 
We  were  ready  to  take  the  train, 

Save  one,  all  were  lamenting — 

"  How  dark,  how  cold — it  will  rain  !  " 

Save  one — while  we  stood  watching, 
And  the  clouds  at  a  breath  disappeared, 

While  the  warm  south  wind  so  welcome 
Scattered  the  clouds  we  had  feared — 

Dear  child,  as  the  simplest  fact 

She  cried  as  the  clouds  rolled  away, 
u  I  asked  God  to  let  the  sun  shine 
So  you  see  we've  a  pleasant  day." 

MARCH  3,  1887. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  23 


Gone ! 

I  went  to  find  my  love, 
I  found  an  open  door  : 

No  voice  from  out 

That  silent  house, 
No  footfall  on  the  floor. 

Sadly  I  entered  in, 
Wandering  from  room  to  room  : 

Books  that  she  loved 

Were  scattered  there, 
Flowers  shed  their  sweet  perfume. 

There  lay  her  garden  hat, 
There  lay  her  veil  of  blue  : 

Close  by  a  dainty 

Wicker  chair 
Nestled  her  tiny  shoe. 

Soon  would  she  come  I  knew. 
Ah  me  !  a  sinking  heart 

That  pictured  to  me 

What  might  be — 
What  if  our  lives  should  part. 

"  Thy  home,"  I  cried,  "so  dark 
When  thou  art  gone,  its  sun, 

Is  like  my  life 

Bereft  of  thee, 
My  light,  my  love,  dear  one." 


24  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


presumption, 

Arachne,  filled  with  joy  ecstatic,  stood 

Before  her  latest  triumph  in  the  art 

She  loved  of  all  the  arts— her  first,  her  last, 

Her  only  gift  vouchsafed  her  by  the  gods, 

Who  know  full  well  what  best  lies  in  our  scope 

To  execute  with  brain  or  hand  more  skilled. 

With  thin,  swift  flying  fingers,  wondrous  deft, 

Arachne  with  the  needle  wrought,  as  light 

In  many  a  dainty  touch  flecks  tree  and 'flower, 

In  subtle  beauty.     Weaving  the  soft  web 

And  broidering  in  rare  device  the  art 

Of  this  vain  maid,  who  deemed  it  all  in  all. 

Through  eyes  askant,  with  small  head  held  quite 

low, 

Turned  to  the  left,  thus  she  stood  gazing  there  ; 
Thus  spake  she  in  a  conceit  amazing  : 
'Oh,  apotheosis  of  useful  art ! 
Pallas,  what  canst  thou  do  in  kind  ?     How  slight 
Thy  boasted  skill  compared  with  mine  !    Thy  gifts, 
How  little  worth,  yea,  e'en  thy  proudest  work !  " 


At  this  presumptuous  speech,  Pallas  close  by, 
Invisible,  her  glory  veiled  in  cloud, 
Grasped  with  an  angry  hand  her  wand.    Her  wrath 
Was  quick  and  fierce,  dread  Pallas,  child  of  Jove, 
The  Thunderer.     Arachne  cried  aloud  : 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  25 

"Yea,  yea,  oh  goddess,  I  do  challenge  thee. 
I  and  thou  shalt  try  our  skill  in  this  most 
Cunning  work.  I  do  not  fear  with  thee  to 
Take  my  stand,  and  thou  mayst  choose  our  judge. 

He 

Shall  declare  between  us — "     But  now  in  fright 
Arachne  ceased  to  speak,  a  sudden  light 
Seemed  all  at  once  to  fill  both  heaven  and  earth. 
A  shuddering  moment  when  Arachne  saw 
Standing  above  her  in  sublimest  scorn, 
The  fair-haired,  blue-eyed  Pallas,  well  beloved 
Of  Jove.     The  maiden  felt  her  heart  grow  cold  ; 
How  would  the  Immortals  look  upon  her  words? 
Would  Pallas  wise  swift  punishment  send  down? 
(Pallas  oft  sad  with  cares  from  all  mankind.) 
Arachne,  vain  to  the  last  bitter  end, 
Tho'  in  the  august  presence  of  great  Jove, 
Cast  once  again  a  look  of  pride  upon 
Her  well-wrought  Aveb',  then  felt  herself  shrink  dry 
And  hard  ;  saw  deft,  slim  fingers,  white,  grow  black 
And  change  to  hairy  claws,  herself  grow  small — 
She  turned  her  head  to  see  the  uplifted  wand, 
The  pale,  sweet  face,  silent  in  god-like  rage, 
In  lofty  scorn  of  what  could  ne'er  approach 
The  understanding  in  its  low  estate— 
Of  love  sublime,  or  noble  works  divine. 
When  from  the  light  so  suddenly  withdrawn, 
A  darkness  visible,  Arachne  knew 
Herself  a  strange,  new  creature — feelings  dim — 
Each  motion  new,  save  Hying  fingers  all, 
That  of  themselves  would   sprawl.     She  felt  the 
change 


26  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 

Go  on  ;  she  dare  not  call,  nor  cry  for  aid— 
For  what  is  man  against  the  immortal  gods? 
They  will,  and  we  are  naught  before  their  might. 
Arachne  gasped  :     "Of  my  presumption  see 
The  bitter  cost."     Then  a  great  silence  fell. 
A  hideous  spider  now  beside  the  loom 
Arachne  crouched,  in  form  and  being  changed  : 
Such  the  hard  fate  of  this  presumptuous  maid. 
Pallas,  how  wise  !  vain  folly  and  conceit 
To  his  complete  undoing  shall  lure  man. 
Great  are  the  gods,  let  us  offend  them  not. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  27 


ffair  Helen's  Hfcfcress  to  a  fflirt. 


That  you  are  clever,  sir,  'tis  true : 

This  is  not  flattery  merely, 
Your  worth  demands  the  truth  from  me, 

Indeed,  I  speak  sincerely. 
I  understand  your  little  ways — 

Who  should,  in  fact,  know  better  ? 
Like  you,  I'll  own  without  a  wince, 

I've  fifty,  too,  in  fetter. 


IT. 


Light  chains  of  roses,  light  as  air, 

For  fifty  "gilt  youth  "  charming, 
Not  one  of  all,  I'll  haste  to  say, 

Has  true  love  e'er  been  harming. 
A  flirt,  a  laugh,  a  smile,  a  word— 

A  call  a  trifle  merry; 
A  matinee,  a  ride,  or  walk — 

"  His  own  best  girl  ?  " — a  query. 


in. 


Just  how  it  goes  you  know  yourself, 

With  many  a  photo  changing, 
From  panel  grand  to  cabinet 

A  sweet  assortment  ranging. 
Ah!  bliss  supreme,  to  sit  alone 

And  study  one's  collection: 
A  gallant  "crewe,"  may  chance  forbid 

There's  yet  been  a  deflection. 


28  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


IV. 

Like  precious  gems  see  Charlies  three, 

Four  Freds,  one  Will,  one  Josie; 
With  Jim  and  Gustav,  Jack,  and  Paul, 

Whose  cropped  locks  might  be  rosy. 
Sometimes  they  write,  and  if  they  do 

I  answer  every  letter, 
Which  from  a  single  draft  to  suit 

Save's  time — 110  plan's  a  better. 


Reducing  to  a  science  thus 

These  innocent  flirtations 
A  jolly  life  we  lead  indeed 

Despite  of  trade's  mutations. 
Yet,  brightest  mind,  pray  tell  me  now- 

Withal  admit  it  frankly — 
While  "  merry  war  "  is  not  so  bad, 

How  oft  the  days  run  blankly. 

VI. 

Comes  to  our  hearts  in  some  odd  hour, 

Perchance  a  vague  surmising 
Of  richer  life,  of  fervent  love, 

'Twere  better  there  uprising. 
One  true,  one  only  love  our  own 

One  glorious  changeless  passion — 
Enough — no  hint  of  sigh  or  tear, 

For  love  that's  out  of  fashion. 


VA GRANT  FANCIES.  29 


OLaw  of 

(Pathetic  story  of  an  aged  pauper/ 


I  started  in  life  a  millionaire, 
I  had  wife  and  sons  who  lovely  were, 
And  houses  and  land  'most  everywhere, 
But  Necessity  knows  no  law. 

n. 

Very  near  my  mansion  was  a  slum, 
The  stamping-ground  of  roughs  who  come 
To  grief  and  want  thro'  many  a  bum — 
For  Necessity  knows  no  law. 

in. 

When  wintry  days  grew  short  and  cold — 
This  motley  mob  grew  very  bold, 
To  my  face  and  eyes,  to  me,  they  told, 
11  Necessity  knows  no  law." 

IV. 

I  stoutly  differed  from  this  rule — 
I  said  the  jail  should  be  their  school ; 

They  jeered  me  and  said  I  was  a , 

That  "  Necessity  knows  no  law." 


30  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


V. 

So  they  stole  my  coal,  they  hooked  my  bread, 
One  gobbled  a  farm,  another  a  sled, 
My  fighting  sons  they  killed  stone  dead, 
For,  "  Necessity  knows  no  law/' 


Now  a  false  friend  came,  a  handsome  man, 
He  seemed  to  work  his  little  plan, 
And  soon  my  wife  off  with  him  ran — 

For,  "  Necessity  knows  no  law." 

VII. 

The  thieves  waxed  worse  from  day  to  day — 

Declaring  this  their  only  way. 

In  vain  it  was  I  cried,  "  Nay,  nay," 

For,  "  Necessity  knows  no  law." 

vni. 

So  now  you  see  in  my  old  age 
Here  in  the  poor-house  the  last  page 
Of  my  sad  life — write  in  a  rage 

That,  "  Necessity  knows  no  law." 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  31 

ZTbe  Scotcb  flfcecbanic, 

Where  shall  we  search  his  like  to  find  ? 

We  fear  he's  gane  for  iver, 
Wi'  mony  a  lick  o'  honest  wark 

That  aye  wad  hang  togither. 

Wae,  wae's  the  day,  wi'  heavy  heart, 

Sae  puir  as  puir  could  be, 
The  bra',  strang  man  did  gang  awa', 

Wi'  a'  his  familie. 

What  goodly  wark  came  fra'  his  hand, 

In  iron,  wood,  or  stane  ; 
What  wad  he  mak'  in  cloth  or  steel — 

Ye'll  find  it  no  again. 

How  proud  he  was  to  do  right  weel, 

How  faithful,  humble,  kind, 
How  loyal  to  his  country's  good — 

Ne'er,  ne'er  his  like  we'll  find ! 

That  this  bra'  man  maun  gie  his  place 

To  blatant  "  labor  knight," 
Mad  socialist,  wi'  lang,  wild  hair 

And  armed  wi'  dynamite  ! 

The  wark  o'  yore  sae  nobly  done, 

The  Scotchman's  simple  pride  ; 
His  love  o'  country,  order,  law — 

Better  than  a'  beside — 

What,  lost  to  us  for  aye  guid  mon  ? 

Na,  na  ;  this  ne'er  shall  be, 
Coom  back,  here's  wark  and  fortune,  too, 

Wi'  our  best  love  for  thee. 


32  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


IHncle  Sam  on  jfemale  Suffrage, 


Come,  now,  ye  sentimental,  come — 

Ye  women  who  would  vote, 
See  if  I  can  one  grain  of  sense 

Make  plain  for  you  to  note. 
With  tears  and  groans  ye  vex  my  soul, 

Vainly  for  suffrage  cry — 
Blind  to  the  woes  upspringing  from 

Rampant  Democracy. 

n. 

Wise  Miss  Columbia  tells  you  true, 

That  not  in  church  or  state, 
An  added  number,  more  or  less, 

I  need  for  votes  to  wait — 
To  help  me  crush  the  fatal  throng 

Who  now  have  in  their  hands 
A  power  unlimited  to  wreck 

This  fairest  of  all  lands. 

in. 

Great  Scott !   had  I  from- very  first 

Denied  to  one  and  all 
The  strangers  coming  over  here 

At  idiotic  call — 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  33 

The  right  to  vote,  or  have  one  word 

In  business  politic, 
My  scanty  hair  would  not  be  gray, 

My  heart  of  "  Freedom  "  sick. 


IV 


Do  not  demand,  ye  women,  then, 

To  add  to  complications, 
Forego  your  sentimental  talk 

Of  legal  "  Prohibitions." 
Just  leave  the  ship  of  state  alone, 

Rest  easy  on  your  oars — 
While  Uncle  Sam  with  practiced  hand 

Shall  steer  for  calmer  shores. 


34  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 

Ube  Ballafc  of  tbe  Wise 

In  prehistoric  times 

There  lived  a  tribe  nomadic, 

Among  them  real  advance 
Was  generally  sporadic. 

I  mean  by  this,  you  know, 
That  to  a  man  ungainly 

The  lofty  heights  of  art 

To  scale  they  wished  all  vainly. 

They  yearned  to  till  the  soil, 
To  eat  their  fill  of  maize — 

To  build  their  huts  of  stone 
Their  longing  was  a  craze. 

When  all  were  in  despair 

An  able  chief  arose 
Under  whose  wisest  rule 

It  was  as  you'd  suppose: 

He  gave  each  man  a  lot. 

"  There  build  thy  hut,  thou  goose, 
Haste  sow  thy  stock  of  maize 

Be  done  with  life  so  loose. 

And  barbarous  indeed, 

Let  other's  land  alone, 
So  now  we'll  rise  in  art 

Unless  comes  a  cyclone." 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  35 


With  many  a  cry  of  joy 
The  Trogs  obeyed  his  will. 

Before  three  moons  went  round 
Of  maize  they'd  had  their  fill. 

Behold  the  happy  tribe, 

Freed  from  dread  of  starvation, 
Glad  in  their  life  ideal, 

Give  to  their  chief  oblation. 


Yum  Sing,  a  churlish  one, 
Felt  his  heart  sink  with  hate. 

To  take  that  chief's  high  place 
He  vowed  should  be  his  fate. 


He  talked  with  jabbering  zeal 

To  one  and  all  the  tribe, 
Sowing  ill  will  so  far 

As  e'en  the  squaws  to  bribe. 

Each  Trog  had  five  of  these 

And  soon  they  all  were  wild, 
Praising  Yum  Sing  sky  high, 

This  by  his  words  beguiled. 

The  chief  waxed  fierce  in  rage 

He  called  the  tribe  about  him. 
Go  to,"  he  cried  in  scorn. 

How  could  they  ever  doubt  him!    v  r  TT  w  »*  <*  * 


oar 


. 


36  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 

"  Ye  cry  for  land  in  common, 
To  settle  where  each  will ! 
Go  to  !     Yum  Sing's  a  fraud, 
Now  of  him  take  your  fill." 

The  chief  in  anger  turned, 
His  fairest  squaw  did  call, 

From  malice  glad  to  nee, 
Left  them  for  good  and  all. 

Yum  Sing  now  had  his  will, 
With  new  land  distribution 

Saw  anarchy's  mad  rule, 
Old  feuds,  old  destitution. 

The  chief  and  his  fair  squaw 
Escaped  to  parts  unknown, 

'Tis  rumored  that  in  Gaul 
They  built  a  hut  of  stone. 

That  fortune  without  stint 
In  maize,  in  wine  and  oil 

With  fairer  olive  sprouts 
Came  to  his  lot  of  toil. 


And  happiness  and  peace, 
For  this  wise  chief  for  broils 

Felt  in  his  breast  no  love, 
Nor  cared  he  for  the  spoils. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  37 

But  meanwhile  in  the  tribe, 

Again  a  tribe  nomadic, 
Came  famine,  feud  and  war 

One  could  have  wished  sporadic. 

Disorder  ruled  them  then, 

Fierce  rage 'gainst  chief  Yum  Sing. 

His  work  had  brought  this  woe, 
Too  long  he'd  had  his  fling. 

With  pestilence  and  famine 

Behold  them  in  despair  ; 
Fierce  to  requite  Yum  Sing 

They  slew  him  then  and  there. 

In  prehistoric  times 

They  slew  Yum  Sing  with  fire, 
Yet  saved  they  not  their  tribe 

Whose  last  man  did  expire. 

L'ENVOI. 

'Tis  said,  and  doubtless  true, 

That  Yum's  ignoble  soul 
Reformers  age  by  age 

Too  often  doth  control. 

But  tribes  are  Aviser  grown. 

They  scorn  new  schemes  ephemeral 
They  laugh  and  wink  the  eye 

At  Yum's  whole  brood  in  general. 


38  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


©ut! 
of  tbe  f  oolfsb 


i. 

In  prehistoric  times 

Near  Gallia's  fruitful  region, 
Lived  a  domestic  tribe 

Whose  industries  were  legion. 
They  ploughed  and  sowed  the  fields, 

Were  rich  in  oil  and  wine, 
While  flagons  huge  of  beer 

Made  each  Trog's  face  to  shine. 

IT. 

Of  all  the  cave  men  bold  , 

Of  Troglodyte  prosperity, 
This  tribe  was  surely  first, 

'Twas  rich  to  all  posterity. 
But  came  one  day  a  tribe 

Of  wily,  artful  strangers, 
By  cunning  words  of  praise 

Glossed  over  obvious  dangers. 

in. 

In  cunning  words  it  cried, 

"  Here,  men,  behold  our  money 
Sell  out  to  us  your  lands, 

Your  oil,  your  wine,  your  honey." 
"  Oh,  Trogs  !  we'll  sell  to  you," 
Quick  to  reply  the  others  — 
"  We're  tired  of  our  work, 

Give  us  your  gold,  then,  brothers." 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  39 


IV. 

Nein,  nein,"  cried  Yum,  the  chief, 

"  Come  here,  your  gold  is  well, 
Live  with  us  as  ye  will, 

But  wherefore  shall  we  sell  ?  " 
Yum's  wisdom  went  for  naught, 

They  scorned  him  to  his  face, 
Made  haste  to  sell  their  all, 

As  men  who  win  a  race. 


Alas  !  too  soon  these  Trogs 

Their  wine,  land,  gold  all  fled, 
Cried,  "  We  are  in  the  soup," 

And  groaned  and  wished  them  dead. 
In  grief  and  fear  they  cried 

"  Oh,  for  the  days  of  yore, 
Now  we  are  beggars  here, 

Our  glory  is  no  more." 
At  this  the  other  tribe, 

Of  wary,  artful  strangers 
Cried,  "  Kill  and  eat  these  men 

So  we'll  avoid  all  dangers. 
These  paupers  in  our  midst 

They  shame  all  our  prosperity." 
And  thus  the  "sold  out "  tribe 

Was  handled  with  dexterity. 

L'ENVOI. 
In  ancient  times  they  say, 

In  utmost  domesticity, 
This  wily  stranger  tribe 

Then  lived  in  great  felicity. 


40  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


Uoucbina  Ballafc  of  a  Xost  ZTribe 
of  ITroglofcptes. 


In  prehistoric  times, 

Plump  down  in  fair  Germania 
One  day  there  came  a  tribe 

Fresh  from  Graeco-Romania. 

ii. 

They  came  with  battle-cry, 

Red  flag  and  cap,  and  shouting, 

With  frightful  din  and  roar, 
Their  war-like  ensigns  flouting. 

in. 

As  bees  about  a  hive, 

Or  locusts  o'er  a  prairie, 
So  did  this  rabble  horde 

Pause  now  to  make  them  merry. 

IV. 

A  hundred  thousand  strong, 
Well  armed  with  pike  and  hatchet, 

1  Fly,  natives  ;    view  our  strength, 
We'd  smile  to  see  vou  match  it." 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  41 


V. 


Beside  a  murky  stream 

They  paused  to  reconnoiter, 

While  chieftains  of  the  tribe 
Stragglers  forbade  to  loiter. 


VI. 


Among  them  'twas  a  rule 
That  meanest  of  the  rabble, 

As  speakers  should  hold  forth, 
And  lead  them  with  their  babble. 


VII. 


So  now,  when  all  was  still, 
While  natives  gathered  near, 

As  Zend,  and  Slav,  and  Frank, 

And  wide-cheeked  Boehm  with  leer, 


VIII. 


With  Wend  and  Bairish  maid, 
With  pale-haired  Saxon  man, 

Hot-blooded  Prussian  Scout, 
And  Swabia's  witless  clan, 


IX. 


These  one  and  all  drew  near, 
The  stranger  tribe  surrounded, 

'  What  would  this  motley  crew  ?" 
Quoth  native,  quite  dumbfounded 


42  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


X. 

Then  here  and  yon  a  voice, 
In  truth  four  score  were  lifted, 

Yet  none  too  few,  if  mean, 
Not  orators  most  gifted. 

XT. 

But  loud  the  noise,  and  rude, 
The  native  tribes  now  learning, 

That  hour,  the  wry-faced  foe 
Knew  all,  with  anger  burning. 

XII. 

For  thus  the  speakers  cried, 
"  Here  let  us  tent,  my  brothers, 

Here  is  our  land  in  store. 
We  claim  before  all  others. 

XIII. 

For  mutual  benefit, 

Let's  all  become  producers, 
No  Croesus  here,  nor  Midas'  gold, 

Of  old  things  order  new,  sirs. 

XIV. 

No  capital,  no  rent, 

Ne'er  fret  our  souls  o'er  taxes'. 
The  voice  of  mobs  is  sweet 

When  tyrant  kaisar  waxes. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  43 


A  halcyon  time  ;   no  work  ; 

We'll  live  upon  a  theory, 
Each  day  a  reason  fest, 

Towards  nightfall  getting  beer-y." 

XVI. 

The  native  tribes  in  rage, 

In  noisy  indignation, 
With  sledges  grasped  to  fight, 

Paused  in  exasperation. 

XVII. 

The  chief  called  back  his  men. 

A  certain  gray-haired  poet 
Stood  out  in  front  to  speak, 

They  said,  "  He's  sure  to  know  it 

XVIII. 

All — why,  then  take  heed, 

Wisdom's  rare  voice  not  slighting/ 
His  words  were  few  and  slow  ; 

His  counsel  was  not  fighting. 

XIX. 

With  rage  to  instant  mirth, 
Each  man  now  went  his  way, 

The  sequel  soon  to  -tell. 

"Oh,  ho  !  we've  gained  the  day." 


44  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


XX. 

'Tvvas  thus  the  strange  tribe  cried, 

Those  pitiless  invaders, 
'Gainst  forms  of  order,  law, 

Most  fierce  and  firm  crusaders. 

XXI. 

My  faltering  pen  is  slow, 
My  heart  fit  to  be  broken. 

Ah  !   fate  unkind,  I  trow, 

What  sad  words  must  be  spoken. 

XXII. 

Yet  in  this  o'er  true  tale, 
To  hide,  by  art  concealing 

What  should  be  told,  alas  ! 
A  nature  base  revealing. 

XXIII. 

So  then  of  this  wild  tribe 

Invading  old  Germania, 
We  trace  one  single  year 

Since  fresh  from  Greek-Romania. 

XXIV. 

While  German  tribes  waged  war, 

Of  internecine  merely  : 
The  strangers  not  in  peace. 

As  one  might  see  most  clearly. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  45 


XXV. 

Would  mine  were  pen  of  fire 

To  picture  all  the  jangle: 
Until,  like  Fury  loose, 

'Twas  one  unceasing  wrangle. 

XXVI. 

Came  then  black  day  of  May, 
The  First  of  mem'ry  hateful, 

Mad  feud  with  smaller  spite 

Crowned  mis'ry's  climax  fateful. 

XXVII. 

With  hotter  fury  blind, 

With  fiery  devastation, 
That  fell  day's  fatal  work, 

Complete  annihilation  ! 

XXVIII. 

Nameless  and  lost  that  tribe, 

Nor  one  to  tell  the  story, 
While  rapturous  German  chiefs 

Crowned  their  wise  poet  hoary. 

XXIX. 

For  these  his  words  came  true, 

' '  Ne'er  deign  to  them  obstruction. 

Go,  battle  with  yourselves, 

They  work  their  own  destruction." 


46  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


Thus  did  the  cave-men  bold 
In  glorious  old  Germania, 

The  lucky  Troglodytes  ! 
Escape  Graeco- Romania. 


XXXI. 


Nor  did  they  drop  a  tear 
O'er  the  sad  fate  primeval 

Of  that  lost,  nameless  tribe 
Wiped  out  in  dire  upheaval. 


XXXII. 


In  prehistoric  times 

Throughout  the  land  Germania, 
They  smiled  to  tell  the  end 

Of  anarchic  Romania. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  47 


peter  tbe  Ibermtt  in  tbe  fUneteentb  Cert: 
tutp,  ©n  tbe  tRussian  ©utrages* 


[To  the  memory  of  Mrs.  J.  B.  Schramm,  who  died  at  her  home  on 
Ninth  Street,  Milwaukee  on  Christmas  morning,  1872,  a  faithful  wife, 
loving  mother,  kind  neighbor  and  a  devout  daughter  of  Israel,  beloved 
by  all  and  mourned  by  all  who  came  within  the  influence  of  her  lovely 
character,  this  poem  on  the  Russian  Jews  is  dedicated.] 


Ho  !  every  son  of  Israel , 

Now  haste  ye  to  the  front ! 
Have  ye  no  souls  to  do  and  dare, 

No  wills  to  bear  the  brunt 
Of  vengeance  for  your  myriad  wrongs, 

Your  people's,  through  the  ages  ? 
Or  can  ye  rest  in  luxury, 

While  yet  the  conflict  rages  ? 


n. 


Out  on  you,  sluggards,  halting  here  ! 

Why  wait  ye  idle  now  ? 
The  sad,  long  story  well  ye  know 

Doth  darken  Freedom's  brow. 
The  shameful  tale  of  suffering 

Of  all  mankind's  dire  sorrow 
Thine,  surely,  Israel,  is  the  worst; 

And  think,  what  of  the  morrow? 


48  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


III. 


Ah,  Israel !  know  I've  loved  thee, 

My  heart's  with  anguish  torn, 
When  I  read  from  history's  every  page 

What  needless  wrongs  thou'st  borne. 
How  thy  country  fair,  thy  temple, 

Thy  white-walled  cottage  home, 
In  blood  and  dire  destruction 

Were  vanquished  by  proud  Rome. 

IV. 

The  proud  old  Roman  Empire, 

Exhausted  rage  on  thee, 
Then  Moslem  Turk  and  Christian — 

Ah!  where  might'  Israel  flee? 
What  refuge  son  or  daughter 

From  cruel  shame  and  scorn  ? 
The  brave,  the  fair,  woe  for  ye  all  ! 

Well  had  ye  ne'er  been  born. 


v. 


I  see  thy  people,  Israel, 

There's  one  same  mark  on  all, 
It  is  the  sign,  deep-planted  there, 

Of  hopeless  misery's  pall: 
Yea,  even  in  their  faces, 

Father,  brother,  son, 
Grave  matron,  lovely  maiden, 

Or  sweet  child  life  begun, 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  49 


VI. 


Yea,  see  the  down-cast  sorrow, 

'Tis  even  with  thee  yet, 
No  transient  hous  of  trifling  joys 

Shall  woo  thee  to  forget. 
Not  those  who  live  in  freedom, 

Nor  they  who  dwell  in  peace, 
Shall  prove  so  dead  to  Israel's  fate 

That  their  heart's  gsief  may  cease. 

VII. 

What !  did  I  speak  of  Christian  ? 

Who  raised  his  hand  in  wrath 
To  add  to  all  the  anguish 

That  marked  thy  weary  path. 
Say  not  the  word,  sad  Israel, 

Nor  think  it  in  thy  heart, 
No  follower  of  the  loving  One 

E'er  dared  take  such  a  part. 


The  gentle  Jew  we  worship, 

Thy  "  Elder  Brother,"  kind, 
From  very  first  his  followers  true, 

Did  his  glad  welcoming  find 
Among  thy  people  steadfast, 

How  glad  his  words  to  know, 
'Twas  envy's  spite  and  malice 

That  dealt  the  dreadful  blow. 


50  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


Alas  !  for  temple's  faction 

Of  priest  and  pharisee 
Who  led  astray  their  followers 

To  Baal  to  bow  the  knee. 
But  in  the  heart  of  Israel, 

Ye  knew  it  from  the  first, 
Who  died  to  save  His  people, 

Was  worshiped,  never  curst. 


x. 


Thy  fierce  and  mad  detractors, 

Who  raged  in  tumult  wild, 
Usurped  the  name  of  "Christian," 

They  shame  sweet  Bethlehem's  child, 
In  all  their  guilt,  sad  Israel, 

Thy  enemies  well  know 
No  follower  of  the  loving  One 

E'er  sought  thy  overthrow. 

XI. 

Lift  up  thy  head,  Oh  Israel, 

Let  not  thy  sad  heart  fail, 
Tho'  thou  art  crushed  and  helpless, 

In  sackcloth  dost  bewail 
The  doom  of  dear  Jerusalem, 

Her  bondage  to  the  Turk, 
The  newer  wrong  by  Russian 

Who  did  the  shameful  work. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  51 


Be  brave  to  win  thy  freedom, 

As  they  who  run  a  race, 
Go  conquering  unto  conquer, 

Nor  hide  thy  tearful  face. 
Fight  in  despair  for  country, 

With  Turk  and  Russian  fight, 
First  conquer  them  with  iron  hand, 

Then  teach  them  what  is  right. 

XIII. 

Ho!  every  lance  in  Christendom  ! 

I'll  lead  ye,  if  I  must. 
Haste,  battle  for  thy  brother 

Crushed  low  into  the  dust, 
See  him;  how  brave,  how  helpless, 

How  has  he  suffered  long, 
Then  speed  ye  to  his  succor 

In  one  tumultuous  throng. 

XIV. 

Undaunted  in  our  warfare, 

Our  gallant  new  crusade, 
We  call  our  Lord  Jehovah 

To  give  his  people  aid, 
'Tis  he  whose  word  was  spoken, 

He  Israel,  outcast. 
Will  gather  in  his  kingdom, 

The  first  shall  be  the  laM. 


52  VA GRANT  FA NCIES. 


Ube  IRussian  Students,  1889* 

[On  Nov. 6, 1889, Madame  Sigida,  a  political  exile  at  Kara,  was  flogged 
to  death,  having  been  ordered  to  receive  one  hundred  blows  from  the 
knout.  What  the  effect  of  this  outrage  was  upon  the  Russian  students, 
as  well  as  upon  every  enlightened  man,  woman  or  child  in  Russia, 
citizens  of  a  free  and  happy  country  can  readily  imagine.] 

God  pity  them,  help  them — the  brave  young  hearts 

In  that  land  of  tyranny. 
They  shall  suffer  and  die  in  their  hopeless  fight, 

Alas  !  for  their  chivalry. 

They  are  fired  with  the  story  of  frightful  wrongs 

By  Oppression's  murderous  band  ; 
How  their  hearts  stand  still;  how  their  eyes  burn  dry, 

At  the  tales  from  that  northern  land. 

Alas !  for  their  comrades  in  Kara's  mines, 

In  Saghalien  island  gray, 
Yea,  all  of  Siberia's  desert  plains, 

Vain  hope  for  a  brighter  day. 

What  horror,  what  anguish  wrung  their  hearts, 

One  victim,  a  crowning  blow— 
For  thy  name,  Freedom,  Alas!  must  she  die? 

Oh  martyr  of  Liberty,  woe  ! 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  53 

"One  hundred  blows  with  the  knout,"  he  said — 

The  miscreant,  coward,  knave  ! 
One  hundred  blows  for  a  woman  fair, 

Who  would  die,  not  live  a  slave. 

Come  boy,  come  man,  here  in  God's  own  land, 

America,  home  of  the  free; 
Come,  matron  and  maid,  from  workshop  and  hall, 

Cry,  "  For  Russia  and  Liberty  !  " 

For  the  Russian  students,  the  brave  young  hearts, 
Help  them  on  with  our  prayers,  our  tears, 

With  our  sympathy  and  our  strong  right  arm— 
A  thousand  times  three  cheers.* 


[*NOTE.—  In  my  possession  is  one  letter  that  is  a  source  of  profound 
satisfaction.  While  observing  that  hundreds  of  thousands  were  sign 
ing  petitions  to  the  Russian  Government  urging  upon  it  humanity 
towards  the  Jews  and  political  victims,  I  thought  of  our  own  govern 
ment.  beloved  of  the  God  of  Freedom,  and  as  a  tiny  straw  sent  to  it  a 
protest  against  ihe  extradition  treaty  with  Russia.  "At  least  the  protest 
must  be  read,  and  I  had  ihis  answer,  that  proved  that  the  letter  as  the 
tiny  straw,  was  blown  to  its  place  by  the  wind  of  the  same  power  which 
in  its  last  expression—  the  office  of  the  people  in  the  department  of 
state  of  the  people—  willed  that  with  Russia  there  should  be  no  extra 
dition  treaty. 

[COPY!  DEPARTMENT  OF  STATE,         ) 

WASHINGTON,  March  4,  1890.  f 
Frances  Grant  Teetzel,  Milwaukee,  Wisconsin: 

MADAM—  I  have  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  your  letter  of  the 
2oth  ultimo,  in  which  you  protest  against  the  making  of  an  extradition 
treaty  with  Russia. 

I  am,  madam,  your  obedient  servant, 
ALVEY  A.  ADEE,  Second  Assistant  Secretary.] 


pr!nenSent  admini*tration  has  signed  an  Extradition  Treaty, 
—  r.  (jr.  T.J 


54  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


Sonnet 

"  Jam  Nox  Est !  " 

[Cicero,  vide  III.  Oration.] 
B.  C.  63  December— December,  1891  A.  D. 

Now  night  is  come,  night  o'er  her  seven  hills, 

Two  thousand  years  long  past  in  pagan  Rome, 
Swift  in  his  fury  Cicero  now  fulfills 

His  work  of  vengeance,  traitors  to  the  home, 
The  city,  country — death  for  all  the  foes 

Whose  cunning  planned  destruction  to  the  state. 
Golden  his  words.     He  tells  of  all  the  woes, 

How  base,  how  hardened,  how  t'  annihilate 
These  fain  had  wrought. — Then  to  Jove  on  high 

Safety  for  all  the  virtuous  would  implore. 
Gone  are  they  all,  as  cloudlets  o'er  the  sky, 

Lived  they  their  span,  and  earth  knew  them  no 

more. 

So  doth  night  come  ;  the  shadows  cease  to  fall, 
For  one  great  shadow  now  is  over  all. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  55 


Woe,  Woe! 

[Scattered  about  the  town  of  Tarsus— at  present  very  different  from 
what  it  WHS  in  the  days  of  St.  Paul,  being  decidedly  a  mean  rity — there 
is  a  certain  race  of  people  known  in  the  East  as  Ansairec,  Nusayree,  or 
Nasari.  They  emigrated  from  the  Lebanon  about  fifty  yem  sago.  They 
practice  a  secret  religion  amongst  themselves  whilst  outwardly  piofess- 
ing  to  be  Mohammedans.  One  of  their  beliefs  is  th>.t  Ali  has  nlways 
an  incarnation  of  the  Deity  on  earth  on  occasions  when  it  is  neces 
sary.  This  incarnation  is  a  great  man,  a  leader  of  men,  but  this  is  not 
the  invariable  rule,  and  oftentimes  the  incarn  tion  of  Ali  upon  earth 
may  pass  unnoticed  by  those  with  whom  he  mixes. — From  the  Cornhill 
Magazine.  Article  entitled,  "  A  Secret  Religion."] 

CANTO  i. 

Via  Dolorosa. 

Alas,  my  soul  is  heavy,  when  the  leaves 

Of  Time's  drear  book  are  spread  Avide  before  me. 

Worn-out  old  world,  thy  crimes  rise  to  the  skies. 

Where  canst  thou  find  a  friend?     Is  it  in  Heaven? 

Ah,  no.     Well,  can  I  feel  how  Calvary 

Cost  thee  thy  birthright,   scorned  by  Heaven,   not 

there 

May  soul  of  sinful  man  e'er  find  a  home. 
The  Father's  House  hath  many  mansions.     Find 
In  some  of  these  thy  home,  poor  man,  but  ne'er 
In  Heaven .  Woe ,  earth ,  for  th  ee .  Th  'all  gracious  King 
Had  come  to  lead  the  way  of  truth  and  love. 
Behold  the  Man  !     God's*triune  spirit  in 
This  fleshly  guise.     What  for  the  Christ,  what  for 
His  chosen  ones  ?     World,  answer  what — and  cry, 
"Ah,  woe  is  me,  Ah,  AVOC  is  me,  woe,  woe." 


56  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 

CANTO  n. 

Via  Dolorosa. 

A  time,  a  time  and  half  a  time  have  flown. 

Yet  darker  grows  the  blacker  pall  of  sin. 

Weep,  angels,   weep.      Tis  even.     Florence,  thrice 

cursed, 

Florence  thy  crimes  are  heavy,  but  this  clay 
Hath  been  thy  day  of  doom,  and  with  thee  all 
Thy  land,  for  time  will  go  and  soon  we  search, 
Yea,  search  in  vain  for  all  thy  power  and  might. 
A  Friday,  May  the  month — under  thy  sky 
So  blue,  thy  snarling  mob  may  vent  its  rage. 
But  all  is  o'er.     'Tis  even  ;  the  work  is  done. 
Three  monks  to-day  have  hung  in  chains  and  burned. 
One,  world  renewed,  but  who  this  nameless  one? 
This  man  of  light,  so  wondrous  fair,  woe,  woe, 
Is  it  again  th'  all  gracious  King  unknown  ? 
0  world — woe  for  Himself,  woe  for  His  friends. 
0  soft  spring  night,  weep  for  this  day — woe,  woe. 


CANTO  in. 

Via  Dolorosa. 

Four  hundred  years  drag  on.     Again  a  time. 

Behold  a  priest  obscure,  a  man  of  God. 

God  was  in  him.     With  winning  words  he  strove 

To  lead  his  people  heavenward — vain  again. 

With  coldness,  pride  and  folly  they  no  heed 

Gave  to  his  hand  pointing  the  way  of  life. 

The  tears  were  on  his  face.     He  bore  their  griefs  ; 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  57 

Counted  as  one  that  goes  down  to  the  pit 
He  fell.     His  soul  among  the  lions,  His 
Life  for  naught.     Staggering  beneath  his  load 
He  by  the  wayside  fell.     None  know  his  name. 
With  heart  that  broke,  with  sorrow  heavy  laden — 
Was  this  our  King  faded  from  sight  of  men  ? 
Now,  as  of  old  his  people  suffer  with 
Him — now,  as  then,   they  weep,  ground  down  be 
neath 

The  upper  and  the  lower  mill  stone,  now 
Sacrificed  to  Moloch— crushed  'neath  the  dire 
Dominion  of  the  Calf  of  Gold,  their  cry 
Goes  up  to  Heaven,  "  How  long,  0  Lord,  how  long?" 
So  the  King  faded  from  the  sight  of  men. 
No  tear  falls  on  his  grave,  a  dead  man  out 
Of  mind,  behold  His  suffering  people, 
0  world,  they  with  their  Lord  find  naught  in  thee  but 

pain. 

How  shall  we  sing  in  thee,  0  Babylon  ? 
How  Zion's  songs  in  thee;  our  hearts  are  full, 
0  world,  0  Babylon,  in  thee  accurst, 
What  for  the  King,  what  for  his  friends?    Woe,  woe. 
Let  misery  be  thine.     Weep  now,  for  love 
Is  fled  and  vengeance  is  His  own.     0  world, 
Scorned  by  all  Heaven— world ,  hast  thou  not  a  friend. 
God  is  thy  judge— Fear  Him,  His  vials  of  wrath 
Are  full ;  now,  world,  tread  thou  the  wine   press- 
weep. 

Wring  thine  own  hands— fall  down,  world,  cry,  "woe. 
woe !  ' 


58  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


fforgottem 

"  Tho'  tossed  about 
With  many  a  conflict, 
Many  a  doubt." 

'Tvvas  a  dream,  I  heard  angelic  voices  singing; 

The  rapture,  how  to  tell  of  their  songs  divine  ? 
Thro'  all  my  spirit  thrilled  the  joy  celestial, 

And  my  guardian  angel  smiled  with  look  benign. 
1  'But  why,  beloved  one,"  I  sighed,  earth  ridden, 

"I  see  they  never  hymn  a  note  of  doubt,  or  pain," 
"Not  so,"  he  breathed  in  softest,  sweetest  accent, 
"With  us  'tis  all  forgotten,  all  the  sad,  the  vain, 
The  drear  old  words  of  woe,  that  gave  to  heavy- 
laden 

A  bitterest  burden — for  no  joy,  nor  rest 
Was  theirs,  until  in  Heaven's  glad  fruition 
All  was  forgotten  in  mansions  of  the  blest." 

APRIL  21,  1893. 


POSTSCRIPT. 


60  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


IRational  jflower. 


MILWAUKEE  CITIZENS'  CHOICE. 


Dot  £eettle  1bop, 

Ton't  sing  to  me  of  golden-rod, 
Ton't  schpeak  of  binks  or  bansies, 

Te  dandelion  in  te  sot, 

Berhaps  somepotty  vancies — 

Dot  leettle  hop,  he  plooms  for  me, 

Von  lofely  flower  for  mine  coundtree. 

Now,  schtop  unt  dink  on  dees  schweet  flower. 

I  say,  vhat  ish  te  matter 
Mit  hops  in  bier,  in  schady  bower  ? 

He'8  all  right,  I  do  flatter, 
Dot  leettle  hop,  qvick,  qvick  for  me, 
He  iss  te  flower  for  mine  coundtree. 

Vhat  iss  dot  hop  vhen  night  iss  here, 

Unt  mit  mine  frau  unt  kinder, 
I  schmokes  mine  pipe  unt  trinks  mine  bier, 

In  summer  unt  in  vinter? 
Dot  leettle  hop  !     Ach  wohl,  for  me, 
Dere's  notting  like  in  dees  coundtree. 

So  den,  mine  friend  ts,  of  flowers  all, 

Of  taisies,  binks  or  roses, 
Of  effery  flower  great  or  scnmall 

That  roundt  mine  house  reposes — 
Dot  leettle  hop — ja,  ja,  for  me, 
He  iss  te  flower  for  mine  coundtree. 


VA  GRANT  FANCIES.  6 1 


Ube  ffirst 


The  short,  dull  gray  of  an  autumn  day 
In  the  shadow  of  evening  was  fading  ; 

On  the  icy  shore  the  tireless  roar 

Of  the  drear  old  ocean  was  breaking, 

And  the  vanishing  crest 

Of  each  wave,  ne'er  at  rest, 

Seemed  an  emblem  of  hope  forsaking. 

By  the  rock-bound  strand  stood  the  pilgrim  band, 
Small  or  great  their  hearts  knew  not  fear. 

In  the  stern,  hard  rule  of  that  Puritan  school, 
A  child  would  have  scorned  a  tear: 

They  were  silent  from  grief, 

How  they  prayed  for  relief- 

Speed  the  bread-laden  bark  to  draw  near. 

Hard  the  woe  from  tyrants  they'd  left  behind. 

Hard  the  woe  from  pitiless  waters. 
11  Say,  man  of  God,  have  we  'scaped  them  all 

To  starve  with  our  sons  and  daughters  ?" 
"  Oh,  husband,  be  brave  ! 
Is  there  no  power  to  save 

Tho'  the  surging  ocean  is  wide  ?" 

11  Lift  thy  heart,"  said  the  pastor, 
"And  be  of  good  cheer. 
Know  ye,  our  God  will  provide." 
Scarce  the  words  from  his  lips  than  his  glad  voice  is 
heard  — 


UHI7ERSIT7J 


62  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 

"A  sail!     Behold!     A  sail! 

The  clouds  of  night 

May  not  hide  from  our  sight. 
The  ship  close  at  hand, 
All  hail!" 

One  outburst  of  rapture — 
^  Then,  "  Let  us  pray," 
Said  the  man  of  God,  none  chiding, 

"And  to-morrow  shall  be  Thanksgiving  Day 
For  our  Heavenly  Father's  providing." 


Sonnet 

The  Artist. 
(Fin  de  siecle) 

Not  fire  from  Heaven  inspired  her  as  she  wrought, 

As  one  who  digs  industrious  her  toil, 
Device  of  beauty,  tricks  of  costume  sought — 

And  gold  and  gems  and  queenly  robes  her  spoil. 
With  burning  zeal  all  art  she  would  exhaust: 

Euterpe,  Clio,  fair  Erato,  too, 
Melpomene — 0,  tragic  muse,  what  cost 

Of  burdened  hours  thy  gruesome  gifts  to  woo. — 
Art,  handmaid  of  the  gods,  best  boon  to  man, 

In  thee  a  balm  for  life's  supremest  ill, 
Inspired  by  truth,  by  faith,  by  love  thy  plan, 

Come,  gentle  Art,  thy  gracious  task  fulfill. 
But  she — 0  apotheosis  of  self  victorious  ! 
Art  weeps  afar,  while  Rome  cries,  "Ah,  'tis  glorious." 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  63 


SHnna  Sing  f  tbe  Ikirfe, 

"  Come,  let  us  join  our  cheerful  songs, 
With  angels  round  the  throne." 

Na,  na,  dinna  sing  i'  the  kirk, 

It  is  truly  a  sin  and  a  shame, 
To  worship  your  Father  in  Heaven 

In  a  way  sae  namely  an'  tame. 
With  one  voice  that  may  be  too  loud, 

Anither  too  tremblin'  an'  weak, 
Here  a  chiel  wi'  a  voice  too  high, 

There  one  wi'  a  bagpipe's  squeak. 

Now,  the  time's  gone  by  for  a'  singing. 

Hoot,  maun  youi  choir  gae  for  naught  ? 
What  a  waste  of  skill,  then,  I  trow, 

An'  no  better  for  gold  to  be  bought. 
Haud  your  peace,  haud  your  peace,  gude  folk, 

I  beg,  frae  this  out  be  sae  kind ; 
Leave  the  choir  the  music,  I  pray, 

Wha'd  wish  ony  better  tae  find. 

Let^me  speak  out  my  mind  right  plain — 

Na  never  a  whit  111  disguise, 
That  the  song  of  the  ransomed  host 

Shall  be  chanted  in  Paradise  ; 
That  the  company  o'  the  elect 

For  aught  that  I  care  or  I  know, 
May  sing  as  they  will  in  Heaven, 

But,  I  beg,  don't  sing  here  below. 


64  VAGRANT  FANCIES. 


Wisconsin  TCHeatber. 

Old  Prob,  what's  this  you've  told  to  me 

About  that  icy  lake? 
This  fog,  this  east  wind  and  these  storms, 

Our  lives  a  burden  make. 
What  an  odd  way,  upon  my  word, 

Climate  to  modify. 
Oh,  weather  man,  you're  to  absurd— 

What  say  you  in  reply  ? 

What  do  I  say,  you  grumbling  soul? 

I  say  the  answer's  easy  — 
But  first  I  pause  to  get  my  breath, 

My  breathing  tubes  are  wheezy. 
So,  now,  my  friend,  in  summer  time, 

In  spring  and  autumn,  too, 
Is  winter  duplicated  here  — 

It's  one  the  whole  year  through. 
Thus  is  our  climate  modified, 

An  equal  temperature  — 
Just  cold  as  ice  from  first  to  last  — 

'Tis  plain  to  see,  I'm  sure." 


1889. 


VAGRANT  FANCIES.  65 


<§>n  tbc  "iReminiscences  of  Hnanias." 

Indeed  !     Why,  Ananias  !     Well,  I  trow, 
From  you,  madame,  Sapphira's  agile  pen 

Would  be  the  proper  thing,  for  as  we  know, 
The  women  now,  in  all,  excel  the  men. 


Gbarles  IT. 

Died  February,  ISiliJ,  Aet.  74. 

A  long  life,  friend,  hath  been  thy  boon  from  Heaven. 

Well  hast  thou  labored  with  a  noble  aim 

To  lift  thyself  and  all  within  thy  ken 

Ever  to  peace,  prosperity,  or  joy. 

A  brave,  an  honest  man  —  one  never  blind 

To  art,  or  beauty,  or  true  worth  when  found. 

In  thee  the  giant  West  had  pioneer 

That  builded  as  he  knew  and  lived  to  see 

His  brightest  visions  realized  —  as  grows 

A  glorious  picture,  well  devised  beneath 

The  skillful  artist's  brush.  —  Loved,  honored,  crowned 

With  all  the  world  gives  to  its  favored  sons, 

Heaven  yet  more  kind  gave  happiness  to  thee, 

But  now  the  last  of  earth.     Rest,  rest  for  aye. 

Stranger  and  friend  will  miss  thee  from  the  scene, 

Stranger  and  friend  will  sigh  and  tears  shall  fall 

For  thee.     Wre  say,   u  Farewell,"  and  give  a  prayer 

That  thou  in  happy  regions  of  the  blest 

Shalt  hear  thy  King  say,  '  '  Faithful  Heart  ,  Well  Done.  " 

THE    END. 

APRIL  26,  1893. 


INDEX. 


PAGE. 

Vagrant  Fancies 5 

True  Philosophy 6 

The  Old  Homestead 7 

The  Elect 9 

TheSong 10 

Night  Thoughts 11 

The  Present 12 

Luxury 13 

Soul  Sick 14 

Decoration  Day,  1891 14 

Adrift 15 

In  a  Rose  Garden 15 

Mozart's  Requeim 16 

Uncertainty   17 

The  Scotchman's  Choice 18 

My  Song 18 

Lacking 19 

Scotch  Song 21 

Faith 22 

Gone 23 

Presumption 24 

Fair  Helen's  Address  to  a  Flirt 27 

The  Law  of  Necessity 29 

The  Scotch  Mechanic 31 

Uncle  Sam  on  Female  Suffrage 32 

The  Ballad  of  the  Wise  Troglodyte 34 

Sold  Out— Ballad  of  the  Foolish  Troglodytes 38 

The  Touching  Ballad  of  a  Lost  Tribe  of  Troglodytes 40 

67 


INDEX— CONTINUED. 

PAGE. 

Peter  the  Hermit  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,  on  the  Russian  Outrages  47 

The  Russian  Students 52 

Sonnet 54 

Woe,  Woe! 55 

Forgotten 58 

Postscript 59 

The  National  Flower 60 

The  First  Thanksgiving 61 

Sonnet 62 

Dinna  Sing  f  the  Kirk. 63 

Wisconsin  Weather 64 

On  the  Reminiscences  of  Ananias 65 

On  Charles  T.  Bradley 65 


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